


No Glory in the West

by Azzzy



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, go stream him, i don’t have any tags to describe this, i wrote this listening to Orville Peck, slow burn?, um... anyway read the notes and summary to get the gist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:09:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24843595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azzzy/pseuds/Azzzy
Summary: A lone cowboy travels through the biter cold, moving towards home on a mission
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	1. Dead of Night

**Author's Note:**

> //uh... I got this story idea when I listened to No Glory in the West by Orville Peck (thus the title). I thought it’d fit with Jesse and Hanzo, so this is what I did.

The night was an inky spill in the sky above, small dots of the white sky peaking through. The spotlight of a full moon shone down on a flat, frigid wasteland, casting its glow down to illuminate the snow. Every bit of warm light had disappeared, replaced by the cold. The cold light of the moon and the cold air that howled in Jesse’s ears. It stung at his skin, biting and scratching with the ferocity of a wild animal. The cold brought its own kind of heat, a painful burning that filled every part of Jesse. He kept his head high, he knew that showing weakness would only aggravate the wind more.

So he soldiered on, through the fresh blankets of snow and past the dark, shadowy spires of trees. It was only a matter of time before it became too dark to travel but he still had so far to go. Setting up camp would waste time but not stopping would kill him. And a dead man was no good. He sighed, the fog of his breath dissipating quickly as he kneeled down, collecting small twigs and leaves to use as kindling. 

Once the wood was piled into a loose pile, he sat down before his makeshift fire. From his satchel he withdrew his flint, placing it next to him on a fallen log. The lumber was wet with melted snow and dark with decay, not an ideal seat but the cowboy had more pressing concerns than if his chaps were dirtied. 

Click, click, click; he spark. The sparks landed in the pile, most fading out quickly while the lucky few survivors persisted and grew. The cowboy blew into the embers gently, stoking the heat and light. Before long, with much care and even more patience, the embers had grown into a steady flame dancing against the darkness. It’s warmth and light pierced through the bright like a hot sword. The radiant touch of warm light thawed the ice that had penetrated deep into Jesse’s very core. Once he’d thawed enough to flex his fingers he laid on the cold log. It was stiff, cold, slippery and uncomfortable. He’d been through worse though. A blanket of his jacket and a pillow of his bag made his bed for that night.

Dreams rarely came when he traveled, sleep being nothing but a dark and indifferent necessity. The cruel bite of winter kept all dreams out of his mind. This brightly lit night, however, brought to him one dream. The dream of home. He dreamt of the small house, made of nothing but stacked wood and a prayer, that sat in the woods. He thought of the warmth of his home and the bright lights that shone through the windows like a lighthouse. He dreamt of the smell of a home cooked meat, a figure at the short stove. A memory began to leak into his dream, a happy memory, of which he held few. A memory of their smell, homy and sweet. Like milk and honey and tea. A memory of their hair, soft as any silk he’d felt before, raven black that sat like a waterfall down their back. They turned to face him, a smile playing across their face before a blinding brightness. The dream became brighter and brighter and brighter still until all Jesse could see was an oppressive white that burnt his eyes.

The light woke him up, pushing all of the dreams from his head. It was the morning, he could tell without opening his eyes. The light of a winter sun glowed bright. It was persistent, glowing and glowing until he finally yielded to it. When he opened his eyes he was met with the sight of a canopy of trees against the pale sky, shining with the weak light of a tired sun. When the oppressive weight of tiredness finally lifted from his chest he rose, his eyes wandering to the last night’s fire. It was all black and burnt, dead as could be. A few embers still shimmered with a light that stood against the cold of winter in a futile protest. They would burn out in time. 


	2. Summertime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse continues on his journey, finding solace in his memories. Not all his memories are happy but some refuse to be ignored.

It had been at least a few hours since leaving the clearing where he’d slept. A few hours of mindless walking, occasionally checking his compass to make sure he was traveling in the right direction. He longed to go faster, to run home as fast as he could. But that wouldn’t work. He was still a day away; he couldn’t run for an entire day. So he walked, on and on. Crossing monotonous plains and dense forests, all blanketed in the same pure white snow. It seemed nowhere had escaped the winter’s blanket. The snow glistened in the sunlight, casting a blinding haze over everywhere Jesse looked.

When he began his trek, he’d whistled tunes he quickly tired of. Then he took to whistling songs of his own invention. He became bored of that even faster. He had been silent for a long time except for the occasional grunt or groan of exasperation when he stumbled. The monotonousness has become inbearable, eating away at his will to keep going like termites chewing away at wood. His legs were noodles, ready to give out and surrender him to the icy ground below. He pressed on, a fully realized thought finally materializing in his mind amid the hazy ideas and inquiries. Another memory, warm like the light of the summertime sun.

He was there, sitting in a lush green field freckled with colorful wildflowers. The sun wasn’t washed out with its winter sadness yet, it shone with joyful light that invigorated the world beneath it. The sun wash over him, warm water relaxing his muscles and reassuring him that he was safe. He felt something by his hand, fingers. They intertwined with his own and squeezed tightly. Before he could look over he landed facedown in the frozen snow, jerking him back into reality. His face stung, the snow was frozen over, much less a pillow than it was a pane of glass. The shards of ice poked and prodded at his cold cheeks, leaving phantom burns.

Pulling himself off the ground, he brushed snow from his clothing and face. The cold still lingered, icy ghosts that persisted with their frigid torment. No time to think about it, just keep moving. He kept on, the winter air as ferocious as ever. Thoughts were fleeting, slipping through his mind, just water in the stream of his conciousness. No thoughts solidified like the memory had, a memory that now evaded him.

Another half hour of mindless walking passed before Jesse allowed himself to stop and eat, a portion of dried meat he’d bought in town before he left. The bags holding his only food sat next to a jar, no more than a few inches in diameter. His hand ran over the glass to ensure it wasn’t cracked. His heart nearly stopped when he mistook the designs decorating it for a fracture.

When he resumed his journey through the icy hell winter had created, he was just as hungry as before and now had one less portion of jerky. The low, dissatisfied growl his stomach gave affirmed that he wouldn’t be sated until he’d eaten so much it hurt. He’d grown used to hunger when he was younger. He’d always been fast, but he could only steal so much as still get away, a lesson he’d learned many times over; only take enough to survive not to thrive.

As the phrase surfaces, so to did other memories that brought more and more with them. Soon his mind was swamped with childhood memories. All he could remember was when his parents kicked him out, joining a gang, his first theft, skipping town with Ashe. It was all too much, too heavy for him to deal with. Besides, there was no good in thinking of it now, he’d sworn off Deadlock and he’d sworn off crime long ago. ‘That didn’t stop you yesterday’ a small voice whispered at the back of his head. He wanted to ignore it but it was true, he may as well still be in Deadlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //wow, two chapters in a day. I’m so good lol. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Feel free to comment, I’m still looking for beta readers. Love y’all


	3. Turn to Hate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t let my sorrow turn to hate”~ Everything is done for a reason. What’s Jesse’s reason?

Another night by a weak fire that could barely fend off the beastly wind chill. Another pensive night with sleep playing hide and seek. Thinking at night was dangerous, the dark of night let thoughts that should stay hidden come to the front. Memories of robberies, murders and petty theft. He’d always justified it as survival, but age had revealed it all to be a lie. Age brought guilt and anger and sadness; all of which became worse the more he thought. 

Even with all his years of guilt and regret, he still didn’t regret what he’d done less than two days ago. He’d robbed a bank. It wasn’t new for him, nor was it particularly difficult. His gun hadn’t been loaded, all it couldn’t shit is blanks, the only damage it could have done it caused a heart attack. But it was threatening enough for the bankers. He almost felt sorry for the rich suckers that’d been in the bank, so scared of a gun but equally scared of loosing their money. 

There wasn’t snow in the town, they’d cleaned the streets off long before he arrived there. It was the first town he’d come across. It wasn’t special but he was on a timer so he’d decided it was good enough. He didn’t bother booking a hotel or freshening up. He’d get looks from the ladies and scowls from the gentlemen, as if their fine fabrics and luxurious furs would somehow be tarnished by his mere presence. Their gross wealth helped to ease his mind as he stepped into the bank. More glances, a few whispers; Ii didn’t know they let people like him deposit here’, ‘he doesn’t belong in here’, he can’t be withdrawing much, now can here’. They were all wrong, he hadn’t been let in, they didn’t let people like him deposit in here, and he’d be withdrawing quite the large sum. And he was auite sure he needed it more then them. 

When he reached the front of the line the teller already looked on edge. There was worry etched into the lines on his face. He wasn’t any older than Jesse himself. Poor kid. He still needed the money though. In a quick, fluid motion he drew his gun. Pointing at the roof and firing, the smell of spent gunpowder following the clap of the gunshot. From the way the bank patrons screamed in terror, they hadn’t seen a gun in their life and couldn’t tell it wasn’t loaded. Perfect.

Trying his best to put on the ‘intimidating’ voice he’d curated in Deadlock, he said to the teller “open the vault. Give me half the money. If you call anyone I’ll shoot you.” He pointed the gun at the kid, watching how he trembled and nodded. Poor kid.

Some of the patrons had tried to flee but were quickly stopped when Jesse turned and brandished the gun at them. They froze, deer that’s been spotted. He motioned for them to sit, and they obeyed. 

He said again “half the money partner. It’s all insured, so which is more valuable? Half of these filthy rich bastards’ cash or your life?” 

The kid nodded, running towards the back to collect the money. He hated to have to be so mean, but congenial robbers never got what they wanted. Jesse whistled while he waited, watching the wealthy tremble and cry. Half of them seemed scared while a surprising amount seemed to be searching with anger. The kid was smart, these people’s bank sums were their lives however. It was people like these that Jesse hated the most. He’d starved on the streets, watched friends die, been assaulted time and time again while people like this sat upon their thrones oblivious to it all. Now he was as angry as they were. 

When the teller returned, the money in a bag, he took it. Thanking him and tipping his worn hat. From the look on his face the kid had never been thanked before, much less by a robber. He refused to laugh, although he found it hilarious. The thanked the patrons for their time and left, not before firing one last blank shot. It was almost too easy. No sheriffs, no fighting back and no wanna-be heroes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //ahhhh! A third chapter. I’m in a roll! Am I proof reading super meticulously? No. Do I need beta readers? Yes. Feel free to comment, thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I’m gonna do this is short chapters so I can keep it light. Feel free to comment any critiques and if you’re interested in betaing for me, comment below. Thanks for reading!


End file.
